


Busy

by Xie



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:11:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1654610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xie/pseuds/Xie





	Busy

I

Brian threw the magazine onto the floor. "Are you almost done?"

Justin didn't even glance at him. "I told you not to wait. I want to finish."

Brian walked over to him. "It looks finished to me."

Justin swiped a bead of white paint along the edge of a sweeping curve. "It's not." He jabbed Brian with his elbow. "Go without me."

Brian sighed. "Fine. And what should I tell Mikey when I show up without you for the third week in a row?"

Justin trailed a line of crimson over the left side of the canvas, and didn't answer.

II

Brian walked into the kitchen. "You shouldn't leave your door unlocked. I could have been some kind of deranged serial killer."

Michael didn't look up from the skillet. "Are you?"

"Considering it." He jabbed his finger in the bubbling spaghetti sauce, and stuck it in his mouth.

"How is it?"

"Just like Deb's."

Michael smiled. "Good."

Brian rolled his eyes. "You'd think so, anyway." He sat on the kitchen counter. "So, where's your husband?"

"On his way home from his office, I guess. Where's yours?"

"Justin and I aren't…"

"Married. I know." It was Michael's turn to roll his eyes.

III

At 7:30, Michael called Ben. Brian could hear him from the other room, even though he was trying to keep his voice low as he hissed into the phone.

Brian got out the papers and pot, and held a joint out wordlessly to Michael when he came back into the living room. "He's not coming."

Michael lit the joint, took a drag, and held the smoke a long time. "Nope," he said squeakily as he blew it out.

They ate spaghetti and drank beer in front of the television, and had another joint and a bottle of wine for dessert.

IV

Michael heaved an enormous sigh, rolled onto his stomach, grabbed the remote control, and muted the sound. "Are you and I this annoying?"

"I'm never annoying," Brian said. "You, on the other hand…"

Michael kept talking as though Brian hadn't said anything. "I mean, when you're wrapped up in some campaign, or I'm coming up with a Rage storyline or trying to buy some comic book collection on eBay, are we as annoying as Ben and Justin when they're in a creative frenzy?"

"That," said Brian solemnly, "was a very long sentence for a guy as drunk as you are."

V

Michael smacked him. "I'm serious."

Brian thought for a minute. "I'm sure Justin and Ben would say we're even more annoying than they are." Then he grinned. "But they'd be wrong."

Michael nodded. "It's because what they do is art and literature, but what we do is just…"

"Work." Brian glanced at him. "No offense to the undying prose that is Rage, but…"

Michael waved his hand. "Exactly."

Brian rolled over and bumped his forehead against Michael's arm, but the booze and pot hit him and he had to wait for the spinning to stop before he could say anything.

VI

Michael frowned. "When I'm busy at the store, Ben nags at me to eat and take better care of myself."

Brian lifted his head. "I stay late at Kinnetik, and I'm a geriatric cancer survivor who hasn't had a decent meal in six years. But if Justin has been locked in his studio for a week obsessively trying to find just the right shade of burnt orange to express the artistic vision that's burning in his Picasso-like brain…"

Michael nodded fiercely. "They're geniuses at work. We're just workaholics who want someone else to pick up milk on the way home."

VII

When Ben got home, Michael and Brian were passed out, snoring and drooling, on the living room floor. He rubbed his eyes while he waited for Justin to answer the phone.

"I think Brian's sleeping here tonight," he said.

"I figured."

"I just got home. You didn't come?"

"Had to finish something. How's the book coming?"

Ben sat down at the table and opened his laptop. "Great. I was at my office, lost track of time."

Justin cradled the phone against his ear with his shoulder, and squeezed some cobalt blue paint onto the palette. "I know what you mean."

VIII

When Brian got home, he checked the studio first. It was empty. Justin's painting was on the canvas, but the room was in the state of neatness that meant it was finished.

He looked at it for a long time, then went upstairs. He dropped his clothes on the bathroom floor, and stood under the hot shower, hoping the water would unknot his sore neck, swearing to never sleep on a floor again.

He was rinsing his hair when the shower door opened.

Justin's hands were smooth on his sore muscles, gliding through the soap and water on Brian's skin.

IX

Brian caught one of Justin's hands in his. "Are you going goth on me?"

Justin examined his fingernails, laughing. "It's just paint."

His lips were wet when Brian kissed him, and they were both breathless when they pulled apart.

"When did you get to sleep?" Brian started lazily scrubbing Justin's hair.

Justin stuck his head under the shower. "About three hours ago."

Brian turned off the water. "So we're both sleep-deprived and need to spend the day in bed?"

Justin grinned. "Sounds good to me."

Brian touched their foreheads together lightly, then opened the shower door. "Me, too," he said.


End file.
